


the night

by tomarkhello



Category: Blink-182
Genre: M/M, post-hiatus no. 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:40:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3830731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomarkhello/pseuds/tomarkhello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom comes to Mark one last time</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO first fic on here but hope people enjoy :-) also FUCK this is much shorter then i thought
> 
> Also unbeta-ed so sorry for errors......

Tom came to him in the night. When tensions were high and they were barely talking. It was the downfall again, Mark could feel it. He was steeling his emotions to feelings of apathy to the whole thing, knowing he still could put all his efforts into blink, and he still had Travis, and one person doesn’t make or break a band. But it was still Tom – and the kindred connection that he had for the majority of his childhood. He got Mark through the crippling loneliness that was touring without the thought of anyone back where he lived to say welcome home. Tom would always say welcome home for him, pick him up when he was down but too proud to say so. He would let him rest his weary head on Tom’s shoulder because Tom knew he didn't have much careful physical contact with anyone else. He came to him in the night.

 

\----

 

There was a quiet rapping at the door, almost like it didn't even want to be heard. Mark hesitated for a moment on the worn couch, wondering if it was just a blip in his imagination as he checked the clock over the TV that blinked 1:34 am. Why he was awake in the first place was a mystery, he had already put Jack to bed hours ago and Skye was off with her friends on some girl vacation. The book he had in his lap strained his eyes and he wasn’t really paying attention to it anyways. So he got up and padded with socked feet on hardwood to the door.

He was shocked at what he saw when he opened the door of his house. 

He saw Tom. Tom DeLonge. The aged face of his childhood best friend, his best man at his wedding, the first person that was truly his friend, the boy who turned around his first 20 lonely years of existence, his bandmember. That last description of him tasted stale on his tongue. 

Mark stood there, truly not knowing what to say. His eyebrows rose as he waited for Tom to explain himself. 

“Hey,” Came the quiet voice from the large man. It sounded like an apology. It sounded like a greeting and a farewell. By one word it sounded like he was laying his life down for Mark as well as walking away from him for good.

Mark knew. He somehow always knew when these things were inevitable. Didn’t mean he tried to stop them, but sometimes you just know, like how the tension of the air tells of an incoming storm or how a friend answers a question about a significant other in a certain tone and you know that they’ve just broken up without them actually staying the words. This happened to be both. 

So Mark stepped aside, gesturing for the man at his doorway to come in. And Tom walked over Marks threshold into his house for the last time.

 

\--

 

They made small, quiet talk of their day and the tea that Mark brewed for both of them, chuckling on jokes of how Britain has changed Mark, chuckling on jokes of how aliens had changed Tom. They didn’t touch on the topic of their stagnant band, the weight of it all seemed to crack at their collarbones and they both didn’t feel like acknowledging the pain to each other. The air hung still in the night and time moved in with smooth precaution as it does without the sun high in the sky. 

Tom looked like he was longing for something. Mark offered him everything he could think of, Tom denied it all. With glances at the clock, far into the AMs, Mark suggested that he stay, that he sleep under his roof and be comfortable once more. The finality of it all grew between the polite space between the old friends. Tom looked down at the couch he was sitting on, then vaguely glanced at the stairs that would lead him to Mark’s room. Mark noticed it, as he does every nuance with Tom. 

Mark slowly stood, tom stood with him. Mark left his tea on the coffee table in front of him, then slowly made his way to the stairs. As his first foot stepped onto the first carpeted step, he glanced over his shoulder to tom again.

Tom stood with his tea clutched in both hands, the steam that once billowed from the top had stopped and the liquid gone cold. Mark took in Tom’s open, innocent, hesitant face; the way his Angels and Airwaves beanie clung and shrugged around his head, Mark felt a twinge in his chest. Tom’s mouth parted as he went to say something and then closed as he seemed to think better of it, eyes furrowed and breaking the stare that he held with Mark. 

With a lifted arm and an open palm, Mark gestured at Tom with a slight smile pulling across his teeth.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mark and tom do and feel things... sad things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry this is SHORT again but im almost done with the next batch of text i just wanted to get this one up :-)

Tom’s eyes widened marginally as a smiled tinged his lips when he looked at Mark’s outstretched hand. He placed down his cold tea next to where Mark placed his own on the coffee table and walked over to Mark slowly, cutting the still air as he moved.

“Skye?” Tom whispered, eyes averted, not being able to hold Mark’s kind gaze.

Mark’s lips tightened into a tight smile for a second and he gave his head one slow shake. Tom looked up at him again. 

Mark’s chest gave an uncomfortable clench that he tried his best to ignore as Tom reached out his hand and placed it in his. Tom worried about if his hands were too clammy as Mark gave a reassuring squeeze. 

“No homo though,” Mark deadpanned, his own joke allowing for a full watt smile to finally break at his lips as he beamed up at Tom. 

Tom’s eyes brightened, and then his lips twitched, and then he finally let out a few short laughs, blinking slowly up at Mark as giddiness rose through his chest. 

The feeling was infectious as Mark finally lead Tom up the stairs, making sure that Jack’s door was closed – not that Mark was planning to do anything strenuous or make any noises to wake his son up , and around the corner of the hallway and through the door that creaked ever so slightly until It gave way to Mark’s bedroom. The dim light of the moon trickled in and the glow of the analog clock to one side of the bed added to the overall gray washed room. 

Mark let his hand slide from Tom’s grip and took a few steps into his bedroom before turning once more towards Tom. Tom held Mark’s gaze before he just couldn’t anymore and dropped his head, feeling ashamed and sad end overwhelmed with an array of negative emotions that he could not control. 

Mark’s face slipped into one of worry as he stepped back to Tom’s personal space. 

“Tom…” He murmured, tilting his head to try and catch his friends gaze. Tom didn’t look up.

Tom reached for his L)ve beanie and slid it off his head, revealing a mess of dark hair that was so familiar to Mark. The man stared down at his hat like it had done him a grave deed and that it could right all the wrong that has been building up over the years. 

Mark’s forefinger and thumb reached out to Tom’s face and brought up his eyes to that Tom couldn't avoid his gaze. His thumb slipped up from under Tom’s chin to brush across the side of Tom’s mouth softly. The younger man closed his eyes and leaned into Mark’s knuckles as they followed his thumbs prior motion, smoothing up the side of Tom’s face. As the bassist reached Tom’s forehead, he brushed aside the stray and beanie-flattened hair and reached for the back of Tom’s head. 

Tom’s eyes broke open and flicked from Mark’s sad quiet eyes to his slightly parted lips and then back to his eyes. Mark brought him in, bent his head, and tucked Tom’s head under his own, his other hand sliding up between Tom’s shoulder blades to wrap around the taller man.

Tom’s hand loosened on the beanie and it fell to the ground, his mind in the midst of slowly processing what was happening. He shifted to hug Mark back, moving his head from under Mark’s chin and leaning his cheek on Mark’s, his hands reaching around the other man and tightening in the back of his shirt as he felt the rhythmic expansion of Mark’s rib cage as he breathed. 

They stood like that for a while in Mark’s bedroom in each other’s embrace, just enjoying the physical pleasure of holding someone they will never stop caring for so much it’s a portion of them they could never change about themselves, like a river gouging out a path in the earth over years and years of turbulent water -- An uncontrollable unconditional love nursed through countless memories of being together, and when not together, thinking of being together again. 

Mark parted from the hug first, slowly running his hands through Tom’s head one last time and turning his head to slightly brush his lips across the cheek of Tom.   
Tom pulled in a quick breath, startled, looking with wide eyes at Mark. Mark, unsatisfied with what he had done, leaned in again and placed a warm kiss on the side of Tom’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not planning into turning this into porn so dont be dissapointed omg 
> 
> there is also a gif that is EXACTLY 
> 
> "Tom’s eyes brightened, and then his lips twitched, and then he finally let out a few short laughs, blinking slowly up at Mark as giddiness rose through his chest. "
> 
> https://pbs.twimg.com/tweet_video/CEIFgFNUkAMybd8.mp4
> 
> like is that wild or what i wrote that sentence first n THEN i saw the gif........... woah


	3. Chapter 3

The lingering press of Mark’s lips were without heat or passion, but that didn’t stop the heat from rising to Tom’s face and he could not stop from blushing furiously at the simple gesture. But it wasn’t truly just a simple gesture – much different from the small pecks that they shared on the stage, quick to show their genuine appreciation for each other in a humorous way as well as to get the crowd excited; they knew things like that made the fans go wild. The difference was in the softness, in the long touch of the only physical connection the two men had at the moment. It was in the forgiveness of this kiss as if Mark was absolving Tom from what he had done to him, and also what the bassist knew he was going to do.

Then Mark stepped back, slightly lowering his head and looking up at Tom with raised eyebrows.

“What was that for?” Tom asked, one of the corners of his lips pulling up slightly.

“I missed you,” Mark whispered, his throat threatening to tighten up on him, his glowing eyes sad. _I loved you_ , remained unsaid but the implication rang between both of them.

Such a simple phrase broke something inside Tom. He swore he could hear it cracking, something deep and personal inside of him. His half smirk faded and he frowned deeply, his eyes once again not able to meet Mark’s as he stared at the floor.

Mark was the first one to make the first move again, slowly smoothing his hands down Tom’s jacket and chest until he grasped it’s inside hem and helped Tom out of it. Tom’s arms slid through the jacket with Mark’s help, and he methodically continued the removal of Tom’s clothes without hesitation, reaching now for Tom’s simple black t-shirt that was underneath his jacket. Tom, on the other hand, was hesitant about the removal of his shirt. His weight had been in perpetual flux it seemed through the years and with the constant barrage of comments from ‘fans’ on how he looked, he was still was not comfortable with his torso. He grabbed the wrist of the hand reaching for his shirt and looked at Mark with what he hoped was pleading, uncertain eyes. Tom wasn’t sure what he was pleading for Mark to do, but didn’t get too far in wondering what it might be as Mark gave Tom a gentle smile and the taller man’s grip faltered for the second time that night as his hand fell from Mark’s wrist. The older man then continued, now grabbing the hem of Tom’s shirt and slowly lifting it over his body. Tom felt like a toddler as he raised his arms so his shirt could be removed. Once gone, Tom grabbed one arm with his other hand; hoping having something across his body would soothe his self consciousness. Tom twitched away when Mark’s hands skimmed his lower stomach, grabbing the button of his jeans and flicking them open.

“I-I can do that,” Tom sputtered out, moving Marks hands away and feeling utterly like a child.

If Tom wasn’t mistaken he would describe the actions as done with the utmost care, like Mark didn’t want to break him. Like Mark cared too much about him. Like Mark still loved him.

Tom swallowed thickly, willing the heat he knew was obvious by his reddening chest not to travel any farther down. He slid his pants down over his thighs and calves and stepped out of them.

Mark then started undressing himself in front of Tom without giving second thought. He sat down on the side of his bed which gave way to his weight, and took off his worn socks first. He then reached for his deep gray shirt and pulled it over his head.

Tom recalled seeing Mark shirtless young. His torso not too thin but not too thick either. Mark in his age lost some of that obvious youthful body, sculpted effortlessly as long as teenage Mark wasn’t too indulgent on Sombreros bean (hold the cheese) burritos that they used to eat together sitting shoulder to shoulder when they were much younger. Mark looked softer, more worn. Tom would almost hint that he looked edging on the side of frail. His skin wasn’t as tight as it used to be and didn’t have as much as a glow to it. And Tom couldn’t stop staring at it, not caring about its physical attributes and only indulging in the fact that that body housed his best friend. Allowed him to touch and experience and to love.

Mark shucked off his pants, although respectfully keeping his boxers on, and flipped a corner of the comforter over, exposing the clean white sheets and then turned expectantly to Tom once more.

There was a tremble behind Tom’s sternum. “Where are you going to sleep?” His eyebrows remained furrowed.

Mark saw right through Tom and knew he was just being difficult. “C’mere,”

Tom gave up, knowing that playing stupid just wasn’t going to work on Mark today. So he made his way to the foot of the bed, and then after some stray moments asking what the hell he was doing here in the bedroom of his estranged best friend in the first place, continued his way until he had reached Mark.

Mark got up again, pulled down the covers even more and patted them. “It’s fine, really.” He said to Toms questioning gaze, uncertain, like he was getting into bed with a faceless lover from a dream that refused to be pieced together in a sensical way.

But the guitarist did get in, continuously feeling foolish as he shifted to become more comfortable and Mark draped the covers over him as if he cared too much.

For a second panic rose in Tom’s chest as Mark walked away from him, thinking that he would actually leave him to sleep on the sofa downstairs, but the fluttering in his chest subsided as his eyes followed the boxer clad man until he was on the other side of the bed.

The bed dipped as Mark shuffled into the covers, the fabric shifting over Tom’s body.

The moments after the moving from Mark’s side of the bed died down, Tom lay there silently, wondering if that was it and how much of a fitful sleep he would be having in the bed of the man whose heart he was going to break not for the first (when Mark discovered boxcar racer and the hurt that Tom saw swimming in his eyes that never really went away until they reunited in 2009), not the second (when he told Mark he was going to marry, and that whatever they were having just wasn’t enough for either of them) , and not even the third (eyes down on the white plastic textured table, his cold manager beside him, words ringing stiffly and incoherently in his ears as he knew that his manger was telling his band members that he was no longer interested in being involved in blink. Back then he could hear Mark's hoarse voice asking him why. Tom didn’t answer. Now he wish he would have.).

No, for the fourth time Tom would be stepping out of Marks life. Possibly for good this time. Maybe they’ve grown apart, become different people with the seasons and melded and changed with their environment once away from each other. Maybe they were always destined to collide and fuse and crack themselves open again to separate as if their relationship was forged by atoms separated by the creation of the universe only to always gravitate towards each other without concrete reason other than they belonged. They belonged they belonged they belonged.

Tom was torn out of his spiraling thoughts when he noticed Mark had said something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look its longer also updated twice today omfg... ok me...


	4. Chapter 4

“Huh?” He asked, continuing to stare at the wall as he saw dark shaped flitting across the ceiling. He was very tired.

“Is this alright?” Mark repeated, lying on his side facing Tom.  The younger man squirmed as he felt Mark continue to stare at him.

“’S fine Mark,” Tom turned his head while still lying on his back to look back at the man across from him.

Mark absentmindedly reached out to Tom and slowly brushed a lock of hair that fell into his eyes when he turned his head. Realizing what he was doing, he retreated his hand jerkily back, murmuring a sorry.

“Mark, its fine.” Tom said, this time steadier, clearer.

Mark, glancing down, seemed to be lost in thought for a moment at what his friend said, then his eyes flickered up once more to his friend, wanting.

Now it was Tom’s turn to make a move. He gradually lifted the blanket beside him like an open tent.

Mark’s eyes widened but he slid over closer into the space of Tom. The dark haired man turned towards Mark and was taken aback at how close the man was to him, how blue his eyes were in the dusky morning light, how with each exhale Tom could feel a whisk of breath on his face. He could feel Mark’s legs reaching out beneath him and finding his own, entangling themselves together as Tom shifted his own legs along Mark’s in response. The thighs on naked thighs brought back well visited memories of tour, the vision worn by the passage of time but the emotions as sharp and clear as a reoccurring dream that wouldn’t damn leave him alone, however many pills tossed into the back of his throat and washed down with alchohol. Tom shouldn’t have come.

Tom closed his eyes against Mark’s look. He knew that if he continued to stare at the face in front of him he would do something he’d regret even more in the morning besides even coming here in the first place.

Mark smoothed a thumb over Tom’s eyebrow softly, wishing he would will away the tightened facial muscles that throbbed beneath his skin. Tom let out a minuscule whimper at the touch, feet and hands twitching with restlessness and the fact that the taller man was straining himself as to not react to Mark’s careful fingers.

“You know,” Mark broke the quiet as Tom’s eyes cracked open to meet blue ones. He regarded Mark’s open, slow speech as if he was trying to calm down a cornered animal. And to be frank, Tom did feel like a cornered animal. A cornered startled animal that was dumb enough to back himself up onto the wall while trying to escape a creature that wished to devour him. He truly deserved to have his neck snapped and carried away by the canines of natural selection.

“You can touch me Tom,” He continued, “If you want.”

Tom looked at the blue eyed man blankly; a need rising in a rush to his chest like Mark knew what Tom wanted before it even hit Tom himself. He needed permission.

The smaller man retracted his arms and laid them on the flat sheets, watching the man beside him with a patent look.

He didn’t deserve the look that Mark was giving him. Tom felt as if he didn’t deserve the understanding that leached through every pour of Mark like the sweat that glistened into him those years past as they grasped at each other’s skin in a desperation to touch and make sense out of the swirling emotions that were a storm in their head and groin. Was it only lust back then? Tom had a hard time convincing himself it was just out of lust as the years lengthened and progressed but the feeling continued as a constant.

Tendons creaked as Tom raised his hand to Mark’s bare chest. His fingers wavered slightly as he pressed him palm between Mark’s pecs.

It was like he was learning to walk again: physical therapy to the man who has been bedridden, his muscles inevitably deteriorating from lack of use. Something as simple and mindless and as taken for granted as walking was become something akin to running and sprinting and leaping hurdles – far too fast, far too difficult. Coincidentally because of this strenuous effort to merely touch Mark again, his breathing became harsh and increased.

Mark watch with closed lips and steady breath as a second hand joined the first.

His clammy hands caught and stuck to skin as Tom started to move them. He traced over where Mark’s nipple piecing was once, the tissue hardening under his fingers. He then felt over collarbones, skin sagging slightly with age and smoothed other his shoulders. After feeling the rounded skin of Mark’s shoulders, Tom’s hands made their way up to the older man’s neck, carding his fingers through once styled hair, now worn and flat from the activities of the day and lack up upkeep into the night.

Here it was Mark’s turn to close his eyes and let out a breath Tom would describe modestly as a sigh.

Letting out a smirk and a huff, he continued his administrations of his half massage, enjoying the feeling he himself was getting as he noticed his friend leaning back into the touch, wanting more.


	5. Chapter 5

Heat flashed down his spine at the breaths escaping his friend’s lips. He couldn’t help it. It almost became as a drug to him that he fought for so many years to not return to. He went into remission and detox and came out alive but always had the itch to pick up Mark again and smoke him like an ex-cigarette smoker who never can scratch out the feeling of _want._ To Tom, Mark was an smoked cigarette butt at the bottom of a gutter – no, he was a left behind, unsmoked cigarette from the hands of a carelessly drunk smoker on top of a bar table – no, he was cigarette grasped by the hands of its rightful owner, a slime blond, who cradled her addiction with care. And Tom wanted it for himself.

Tom’s breath hitched as Mark let out a noticeably higher pitched moan as he used his nails to scratch at the back of Marks head.

“Mark…” The words came out as a hushed whisper, breath whooshing out between slightly parted lips.

The older man opened his eyes to half mast, clearly continuing to enjoy Tom’s hands on the back of his head with a lazy smile on his lips. “Hmm?”

Tom’s hands stopped. “I can’t do this.” He said dully.

Mark eyes flickered with a few blinks, startled.

“What’s the matter?” The older man rasped out, voice tired and unused.

The fingers uncurled from Mark’s hair and Tom’s palms pressed into each of his own eyes. His breathing hitched once, now from a much different emotion from before, but otherwise Tom was able to control himself.

“Oh… Tom…” Mark’s face softened, hands reaching to grasp the other man’s wrists and bring them down from his face.

Tom had done well at keeping the tears from breaching down his face, at the thought of what he was doing here, mostly naked under the covers with another guy who happened to be his best friend. He thought about his wife and kids and how awful he was being to them at the moment he was in.

Mark hadn’t let go of the distressed man’s wrists, but was gently rubbing circles into the inside of them.

“Its fine Tom,” Mark tried for his most soothing voice. “Let’s just go to sleep, okay? It’s all okay.”

Tom gazed down and then brought up his discouraged looking eyes up for a second as Mark spoke.

“Okay,” He mumbled shakily. He then shifted over, turning from onto his side to his back, and then onto his opposite side, facing away from Mark.

A slight frown pulled at the side of Mark’s mouth as he stared into the back of Tom’s figure. He thought it over for a few heartbeats until scooting even closer to Tom, feeling him tense from the sudden touch of Mark’s chest on his back. Mark thought for a while that that was a bad idea and was about to back off from Tom’s personal space, suddenly feeling as if he had gone too far without the permission needed, and then Tom started to relax against him.

Mark let out a little sigh as Tom’s breathes grew longer and deeper, his nose nudged into the back of Tom’s mussled hair, right behind his ear.  Mark shifted his arms and slid them from his own sides over to Tom’s sides, going slowly as to make sure that Tom was comfortable with what he was doing.  Aside from a slight twitch of Tom’s soft skin on his stomach and a small shudder in his breath, he didn’t react.

Mark’s head reeled at how they had gotten to this from just a strange visit in the night. They hadn’t lain like this in years. His hands subconsciously pulled tighter around the man in front of him.

Mark lay there, knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Even if he wasn’t wide awake with the heat of his best friends body pressed up against his front snuggly-- if he was tired, the nagging in the corner of Mark’s mind that told him that this would be the last time is a huge incentive to keep his eyes open, staring at the back of Tom’s head, wondering if the man was asleep or if he too was caught up in the current situation of their fractured future together (if one could even categorize the encompassing words that were ‘their’ and ‘together’ to the separation that ran at them ).

Mark lost track of time and Tom began to breathe deeply, growing soft in his arms and conforming even more to the body of Mark in the dark of a forgiving unconsciousness. Small, content sounding hums escaped him at random slow intervals. Unforgivingly large tears pooled and slipped down Marks nose, down to the bed silently. He let them fall.


End file.
